


your lot is with the ghosts of soldiers dead

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BL White Clouds Route, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Fratricide, Miklan was The Worst(TM), Post-Chapter 5, Sylvain Feels, and all of the Faerghus Four can confirm, mentioned child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: The night after Miklan dies, no one can find Sylvain.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Miklan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 113





	your lot is with the ghosts of soldiers dead

**Author's Note:**

> More. Sylvain. Feels. This got more Sylvgrid that I intended, but hey, I just really love Sylvain and Ingrid. Do I have homework? Absolutely. Did I do this anyways? Absolutely.
> 
> The title is from Siegfried Sassoon's "To My Brother", for anyone who's curious.

_1177_

His father had sent him away on the day that Miklan had been disowned. Of course, Sylvain hadn’t known this at the time. He had been 17 and happy to escort his mother into town without a second thought. His father had said nothing of the situation when he had returned home and Sylvain hadn’t given it a second thought until later that night when he woke to a weight pinning him down on his bed and the sharp prick of a knife against his throat.

Miklan had been more than angry as he snarled at Sylvain. He had called him a thief of everything he was owed and a snake that stole his place. Sylvain, running entirely on adrenaline, had bashed the decorative stone on his bedside temple against his brother’s temple and shoved him off. The brothers had struggled on the floor for the knife until Sylvain finally got a good enough grip to force it down against his brother’s face for all the years of torment he had withstood. 

Guards had arrived then, apparently having expected such actions from the disinherited Gautier son. They hauled Miklan out as he spat and cursed through the blood oozing from the wound on his face. Sylvain had been left alone in his room with the knife and his hands covered in his brother’s blood. 

He scrubbed his hands for an hour to try to wash the blood out as Miklan’s voice howled in his ears. 

Count Galatea came to visit three days later with his daughter. Sylvain entertained Ingrid with a wide smile and hands stained with blood that only he could see.

\- ~ -

_1180_

Ingrid is almost ready to turn in for the night when there’s a knock on her door. She blinks wearily and rubs her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Coming!” she calls out and then flinches reflexively for Marianne’s sake right next door. 

She pulls open the door and sees Dimitri and Felix standing in front of her. Dimitri looks concerned and Felix looks more peeved than anything else. Ingrid frowns, but pulls her door open further so her friends can enter her room. 

“What is it?” she asks them, once Dimitri stalks past her and Felix huffs follows him in more calmly. 

“Sylvain hasn’t been back to his room since we got back,” Dimitri says. 

Felix scoffs and shuffles his weight. “He’ll be in town, picking up some girl again.”

“Felix,” Ingrid scolds sharply. “He killed _his brother_ today. The least you can do is have some compassion.”

Felix narrows his eyes at her. “He hated Miklan. We all know that.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “That doesn’t make what he had to do any easier.”

Felix folds his arms, but he doesn’t argue further. Ingrid picks up on the slightest hint of pain in the Fraldarius heir’s expression, but she doesn’t push it. She’s been thinking of Glenn all day too. 

“Where would he go?” Ingrid questions the boys. 

Dimitri shakes his head, clueless. Felix considers for a moment longer, before offering up their first real idea. 

“We had thought here, but since that’s not true maybe he went to find the Professor.”

Dimitri hums in consideration. “Maybe,” he agrees. “I can go check if you two would like to check anywhere else.”

“No,” Felix mutters. “I’m going to bed. Sylvain will find himself in the morning.”

He stalks out of Ingrid’s room without any room for argument leaving Ingrid with the prince. Dimitri sighs slowly and turns to face her. Ingrid gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“We’ll find him, Your Highness. If you go check with the professor, I can ask around up here and we can reconvene downstairs if neither of us finds anything,” she suggests. 

Dimitri nods, looking more relaxed already. “Thank you, Ingrid. I appreciate this.”

“I’m worried about him too,” she reminds. 

Ingrid grabs her jacket from the back of her chair and extinguishes the lamp on her desk. She nods to Dimitri and they head their separate ways as he makes for the stairs to the first floor. Ingrid turns and knocks tentatively against Marianne’s door. There’s brief shuffling noise before Marianne cracks the door open curiously. 

“Hello Ingrid,” she greets softly. 

Ingrid smiles gently. “You haven’t seen Sylvain, have you?”

Marianne’s brown eyes widen curiously. “No, I haven’t,” she says quietly. 

Ingrid nods. “I figured. Thank you anyways.” She turns to walk away when Marianne’s slender hand reaches out and catches her wrist. Ingrid turns back and sees the shy girl watching her with a worried expression. 

“Is he alright? I heard what happened today,” she mumbles. 

Ingrid presses her lips together. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” she admits. 

Marianne nods and retracts her hand. “I hope you find him.”

“Me too,” Ingrid agrees. 

She quickly climbs the stairs and knocks on Hilda’s door next. Hilda swings open her door quickly and steps out into the hallway, shutting it behind her. Ingrid blinks in surprise at the quick action as well as Hilda’s state of undress. The Goneril noble has three buttons on her blouse undone and her skirt is pulled entirely too high and there’s a high flush along her fair cheekbones. Out of reflex, Ingrid feels herself redden as Hilda crosses her arms over her almost open shirt. 

“I haven’t seen Sylvain, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” Hilda says. 

Ingrid nods. “Ah, well thanks anyway.”

Hilda tips her head and studies Ingrid for a moment. “You didn’t hear this from me, but _someone_ saw Sylvain walking toward the stables a few hours ago.” She doesn’t give Ingrid much chance to process before she opens her door and disappears back into her room. 

“The stables?” Ingrid wonders aloud after Hilda’s gone. Sure, Sylvain liked horses well enough, but it doesn’t exactly seem like the type of place he would retreat to when he is upset. Even so, it’s better than knocking on every door on the 2nd floor and bothering everyone. 

She hurries back towards the staircase and makes her way back to the first floor. In the evening gloom, she can see a few monks and knights roaming about, but it’s almost curfew so she doesn’t see any of her fellow students. Ingrid wants to get to the stable as fast as possible, but she also wants to tell Dimitri where she’s going, so she finds a sort of compromise as she knocks on Mercedes’s door. 

“Hello, Ingrid,” the older girl greets kindly as she opens the door. “What can I help with?”

“His Highness went to go see the professor to ask about Sylvain. I think I know where he is, but I was hoping you would be able to go tell His Highness that while I go ahead to the stables,” Ingrid explains quickly. She feels oddly jittery as she rocks onto her toes while she’s talking. 

Mercedes nods sagely. “Of course! You go on, I’ll go find Dimitri.” 

Ingrid nods and turns and breaks for the stable. She cuts across the fishing hole area and around toward the front of the monastery. Just as she’s rounding the corner towards the main gate, she sees Alois speaking with the Gatekeeper and she grimaces. She keeps her head down and tries to stride past them, but Alois calls out to her. 

“Hey! Ingrid, it is almost curfew. Where are you off to?”

She doesn’t particularly want to explain that Sylvain is missing because that would only start a monastery-wide panic. “Just forgot something at the stable,” she lies instead. “I’ll head right back to my dorm after.” 

Alois buys the lie and he waves her on. Ingrid exhales in relief as she rounds the outside of the monastery towards the stables. When she arrives, two of the lanterns are still lit, but there don’t seem to be any people around. Ingrid frowns as she turns to look around to see if there’s anything she might have missed. 

Sylvain’s horse is in its stall and the mare whinnies when he sees her. Ingrid walks over and gently brushes her hand along the horse’s face. “You’re here, but where’s your rider?” she wonders aloud. 

She glances over her shoulder and pauses when she sees that one of the wyvern hutches is open and the wyvern that’s normally there is missing. She pulls away from the horse and runs over to inspect the hutch. Sure enough, it’s the hutch of the wyvern that Sylvain has been practicing on lately. 

“Sylvain, you idiot,” she mutters. 

Quickly Ingrid walks over to the pegasus stables and finds her own mount. He noses against her hand when she extends it and seems fully willing to go for a late-night flight despite the strenuous activities from earlier in the day. She manages to get saddled quickly and swings herself up onto her mount. 

As she takes to the sky above the monastery, she shivers against the wind. She’s no longer dressed to withstand the heights anymore so she hunches against the warm neck of her pegasus. She flies blindly towards the north end of the monastery and keeps her eyes peeled for any signs of Sylvain in the sky. 

She circles the cathedral’s highest point and is about the head back empty-handed when the setting sun catches a glint of red on the roof of the cathedral. She pulls her mount to a halt in the air as she stares. It certainly appears to be Sylvain lying on his back on the tiled roof of the cathedral. 

Ingrid swoops down toward him, anger building in her throat as she gets closer. She hops off her pegasus and lands jarringly on the roof. She shakes off the pain in her knees and waves her pegasus off. He’ll come when she whistles for him and there’s no good place for him to be on top of a roof. 

“Sylvain!” she calls out, her anger bubbling in her tone. 

From his position lying on the roof, he lifts his head until they make eye contact. His expression deadpans and he drops his head back to the roof without replying. If she hadn’t been mad before, she certainly is now. 

“Of all the stupid places to run off to, why would you choose the Cathedral roof!” she yells at him. She picks her way along the tiles towards him and only slips once, but she’s never in any real danger of falling. Sylvain doesn’t reply, even when she reaches his side and is standing directly above him, looking down at him. “How did you even get up here anyway?”

Sylvain lifts an arm and waves lazily towards the spire of the cathedral and Ingrid spots the snoozing form of his wyvern. She folds her arms and narrows her eyes. 

“If you’re here for a lecture, I really don’t want to hear it,” Sylvain says dryly. 

Ingrid feels a bit affronted that he thinks she’s only here to lecture him. Sure, she had intended on giving him a bit of a lashing for scaring his friends, but she had also been worried about him. She shifts her weight along the slanted tiles and considers her words carefully. 

“We were worried when you didn’t go back to your room,” she says. 

Sylvain sits half-up abruptly. “We?” he scans the roof behind her, but when he doesn’t see anyone else, the tension drains from him and he lies back down. “Right. Heights.” He drops his head back to the roof with an audible thunk that makes Ingrid wince instinctively. 

She studies him briefly and sees that he’s definitely still wearing the armour he wore on the mission, but the gash on his cheekbone has already healed to a faint pink line. It means he had at least had the sense to get aid from a white magic-user before coming up here. 

“Sylvain,” she starts and he lifts a hand, waving her off. 

“You found me. Can’t you leave me be now?”

Ingrid adjusts her weight carefully as she lowers herself to the roof so she’s sitting next to him. “If you could see yourself you’d understand why I can’t.”

Sylvain huffs. “What’s a guy got to do to brood in peace?”

The question is rhetorical, but guilt wells up in Ingrid’s throat. “Maybe not run off after a very stressful day,” she suggests mildly. 

Sylvain falls silent and stares up at the darkening sky. At first, Ingrid thinks that he’s really not going to say anything else to her, but she watches him swallow harshly and the Adam’s apple of his throat bobs with the motion. 

“There’s a word for it, you know,” he says suddenly. 

Ingrid tucks her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, suddenly feeling very sad and a bit out of her depth. 

“Fratricide,” Sylvain mutters darkly, like he’s testing the word in his mouth. “The glorious act of killing one’s own brother.”

“Sylvain,” she argues gently. Hearing him say it with the bitterness sharp in her tone makes her all the more guilty. 

He had put himself right on the front line in the fight. He had strived to get strikes in against Miklan. He had been reckless. Felix, Dimitri, and Ingrid had all seen it, even if their professor didn’t. The three of them had tried to push him away to save him the pain that the situation was causing; however, the Black Beast had gotten a lucky strike and had winded Ingrid’s pegasus, throwing her to the ground before it. 

She had clutched her lance with a stifling fear and prepared for the heavy blow that would follow, but Sylvain cut in front of her on his horse, driving his lance through a weakness in the beast’s armour, protecting her and landing the last blow necessary to stave off the beast that Miklan had become. 

“I always knew he was a monster, but that was pretty literal,” Sylvain continues bitterly. “Of course, I can’t exactly talk about this stuff with Felix or Dimitri and even with you, it feels wrong. All your brothers are still alive after all.”

Ingrid presses her lips together as sympathy pinches her expression. “Felix has lost his brother too. Maybe he would be more sympathetic than you think.”

Sylvain laughs sharply. “Yeah, that’s not the same at all. We all loved Glenn, Ingrid, and the goddess knows we all _hated_ Miklan.” Sylvain’s eyes shut. “I used to love when Glenn and Felix came to visit because Glenn took none of Miklan’s shit.”

It had been true. Miklan was a few years older than Glenn and Sylvain was just a year and a bit younger than the older Fraldarius brother. Glenn was notoriously prickly to anyone who picked on his friends and seemed to make it his personal mission to ensure that Miklan knew he crossed a line when he targeted Sylvain. 

Ingrid recalls, in particular, the one time that Margrave Gautier had sent knights to scour the eastern Faerghus lands when Sylvain had gone missing. Glenn had been instructed to watch over Ingrid and Felix while the knights of Galatea and Fraldarius were dispatched to aid in the search, but as it ended up, Glenn had dragged his brother and fiancé north to Gautier where they had found Sylvain half-dead in a well after only a few hours of searching. Ingrid recalls the hour it took to rescue him from the well as one of the most terrifying things she had ever experienced. 

“No one will be upset that you’re upset about this,” Ingrid assures Sylvain. 

Sylvain lolls his head towards her and frowns. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I should feel bad, but I don’t. I’ve never felt more relieved in my entire life than in that moment when he stopped moving. It was so vindicating.”

Ingrid’s chest tightens. Tentatively, she reaches for one of Sylvain’s hands. He lets her take it and lace their fingers together. 

“He tried to kill me the night after he had been disowned,” Sylvain confesses quietly. 

Ingrid stiffens in surprise and Sylvain notices, skimming a thumb along the back of her hand to coax her back into relaxing. 

“I woke up to him pinning me down on my bed with a knife at my throat. I hit him with that rock that Glenn had given me. We fought for the knife and I won.” Sylvain tips his head back and inhales shakily. 

Ingrid studies his profile and the barely noticeable scar where one of the beast’s talons had caught his face earlier that day. Sylvain is usually so pretty and perfect, it’s almost weird to see him with even the slightest imperfection on his handsome features. He’s not done explaining, so she waits quietly for him to finish.

“I got him good with his own knife.” 

Sylvain lifts a hand and mimes cutting a scar across his own face in the same path that Miklan’s scar had followed. Ingrid’s breath catches. She hadn’t known the origin of the scar. 

“It took me a few weeks before I finally got all the blood off of my hands,” Sylvain mutters. His eyes open and he pushes himself into a half-sitting position where he can stare at Ingrid and his entwined hands. “Still bloody,” he mumbles. 

Something in the bitter tone of his voice cracks and betrays more emotion than before. Ingrid shifts closer to him and Sylvain sits up fully. With her free hand, she reaches for his face, brushing lightly against his fading scar. Sylvain leans into her touch unconsciously, closing his eyes. 

He looks so young and vulnerable in the deep dusk lighting. The cocky, skirt-chasing, Felix-taunting friend she normally sees is absent right now and she’s left with the childhood friend whose scars of abuse are showing through. Sylvain opens his eyes and Ingrid’s breath catches unconsciously at their closeness. Sylvain, for once, doesn’t seem to notice or care about the flush on her cheeks and he leans forward and presses his face into the junction of her shoulder and neck. 

Ingrid slips her fingers into his hair and brushes at it softly. It’s a mirror to how Sylvain had acted after Glenn died when he had been the only one able to coax her out of her room. Sylvain shivers lightly against her touch and he tilts his head just enough to press a careful, open-mouthed kiss to the base of her neck. 

Ingrid exhales slowly and her fingers tighten in his hair. After a moment of silence between them, Sylvain leans back and she sees that his amber eyes are darkened with tears. She slides her hand back to his face and wipes her thumb across the top of his cheekbone. Not for the first time, Ingrid appreciates how pretty Sylvain looks when he’s being open and vulnerable. 

“You’re too good to us, Ingrid,” Sylvain says, his voice much lighter than it had been. Sitting next to her, he’s tall enough that he can lean forward and kiss her forehead lightly. “I’ve always loved you,” Sylvain says next and Ingrid’s chest seizes. 

It’s a heck of a line, one that’s usually reserved for the toughest of women that he tries to flirt with and she hasn’t the faintest idea if he’s being genuine. He says it like it’s the truth and Ingrid desperately wants to know what love means to him. Does he love her as a friend? Or is it in the same way that she had loved Glenn and the way that she used to dream of Sylvain’s charming smile as a little girl? 

The moment is all wrong. They’re on the roof of the cathedral of the monastery and just hours ago they were fighting for their lives against Sylvain’s older brother. She swallows all the words welling up in her throat and just lets Sylvain lean his head against her shoulder and they are just quiet. 

“We’ll stay alive,” Ingrid says firmly. The ‘we’ needs clarifying, but she doesn’t want to qualify it. 

“Alive is better than dead,” Sylvain murmurs in response. 

They linger for another moment before Sylvain pulls back, pushing up to his feet. The second his warmth moves away from her, Ingrid shivers, but she takes his hand when he extends it to her. 

“We can just fly back together,” Sylvain says. “I’ve made enough people worry and I don’t want you to get sick because you came out here after me.”

“I can call Misha,” Ingrid protests and Sylvain shakes his head. 

“Just call him back to the stables. We’ll take Natyu down.” He turns and waves to his wyvern. The beast swoops down towards them, leaving Ingrid no further room to argue. 

She gets on behind him and wraps her arms around his waist tightly. She presses her forehead against his back as they take off, circling back through the sky toward the stables. They don’t say anything as they fly, and Ingrid gets off of the wyvern before Sylvain does, brushing imaginary dirt off her skirt and jacket so she doesn’t have to watch him get his wyvern put away. She whistles for Misha and her mount returns to her. 

Sylvain approaches her once Misha’s back in his stall and he has closed Natyu’s hutch. He looks calmer now than he did when she found him. His bitterness seems to have receded appropriately. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he’s cut off by a familiar voice. 

“Ingrid! Sylvain!” 

They turn sharply and see Dimitri jogging towards them from the Knight’s Hall. Professor Byleth follows him a few paces back, her blue eyes curiously assessing the situation. Ingrid steps away from Sylvain reflexively, leaving a respectable distance between them. 

“When you said stables, I didn’t realize you would be flying off,” Dimitri continues, addressing Ingrid as he reaches them. 

She smiles sheepishly. “Followed a hunch.”

Dimitri turns to Sylvain and pulls him into a tight hug. Sylvain flails momentarily, not used to the affection from the prince. Dimitri releases him but keeps a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. 

“Are you alright? We were worried about you.”

Sylvain glances at Ingrid. She catches a lingering sadness in his gaze, but his lips quirk up at the edges. “Yeah, I’m good,” he assures the prince. “Ingrid got me sorted.”

She didn’t. She absolutely didn’t, but her tongue is glued to the bottom of her mouth by the way that Sylvain is looking at her so she can’t argue. He does seem better, though, so that’s a step in the right direction. 

She’ll just have to keep a closer eye on him.


End file.
